Tortured Optimist

His whirling blue and yellow 

His quiet city sleeping 

The hot fire sky touches the mountain

Dusting the world with peace


My whirling mind of fear

My eyes alive and burrdened

The yellow fire twists in my side 

Until I see Van Gough 


They tell you he painted with a melancholy hand

That his eyes were filled with tears

You never hear the story of hope

Behind the night fire sky


They tell me anxiety isn’t reality

That to fix it is to breath 

You only hear it’s inside your head

Behind the glass in your eyes


My soul is calmed at the sight of his hand

The thick strokes make my heart still

The canvas holds the heart of the healing 

The proof of the tortured optimist 

This poem is about: 


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